


When Worlds Collide

by tiberiusirius



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Complete, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingerfucking, Frottage, Groping, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-15 10:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiberiusirius/pseuds/tiberiusirius
Summary: A world of chaos drives them together. Their combined stubbornness keeps them that way.





	1. Are You Going With Me

 

He was stubborn, there was no denying it. He was more stubborn than the worst of bulls.

 

It wasn't something he was ashamed of. On the contrary he knew it to be a great asset above all else.  

 

Hardening himself and digging his heels in was the only way he'd been able to succeed as a favorite apprentice to King's Landings most sought after smith. He'd seen his ears boxed and been cuffed upside the head countless times for seemingly minuscule missteps and was able to clench his jaw and buckle down, newly determined to prove himself once faced with doubt and dissatisfaction.

 

But with her.....with her it was different.

 

He'd known the time would come. Had been dreading it since the day she'd confided her secret...she was a noble-born lady and him a lowly bastard.

 

Seemingly drawn to each other instinctively, their friendship may have been easy--trust natural--but they belonged to different worlds and had collided only by dreadful circumstance faced with the worst sort of nightmare.

 

A bastard's nightmare would continue as long as he breathed, and though hers seemed to perpetuate itself for far longer than it should have, it looked as if coming to an end. She was to return to her family at Riverrun.

 

He'd once again have to dig his heels in for the umpteenth time and numb himself to the pain of abandonment. Though this go round, not just for himself but for her, even if she chose not to see reality.

 

If it was even possible, he loved her more for her delusion. Her optimism enough to think he'd have a place at her family's side if he chose to follow. It'd certainly made it easier to grimly smile and deny her. He knew she spoke of the impossible. 

 

It was all just dreams of another reality. She wouldn't be family. Not ever. 

 

As much as he pined and wished for it she'd only ever be, and only ever had been, M'lady. 

 

Looking forward presently, he could see he'd deluded himself to believe otherwise under her welcome influence for far too long.

 

How such an aggravatingly alluring creature was able to lift the dreary veil that clung to him and fogged his very existence, and during the worst of times, he could not begin to fathom. What he __did__ know was that he had to let her get away less he plague her with more of the same. More of this hell.  

 

Hope saw him vainly clinging to the vision of some unattainable future. A future where she would denounce her wealth and titles in favor of his love, for a life of them together…a life of the blight that followed him, a bastard's sickness.

 

No. He would not condemn her to his fate for his own happiness. He could not give her leave or even chance for opportunity to make a choice that would see her parted from her family.

 

If he gave in and accompanied her he would pursue her to the ends of the earth until she was his, he couldn’t trust otherwise.

 

And what if his persistence paid off, what of her then? Would he even love her if she saw fit to give up everything for him? Could he say that she was the same girl that breathed purpose into him, herself brought to life with the single-minded purpose of making it north and to her pack, him included?

 

He wouldn’t ruin her for a far off hope, and a hope that might well leave her less than whole at that. He would stubbornly make the hard decision now for the sake of the both of them.

 

He felt as brittle as raw iron in the face of her drowned steely gaze, held only together by sheer force of will as she ran from him in tears upon his utterance of the formality she loathed. She would always be M'Lady. 

 

When he could no longer hear her stumbling retreat into the undergrowth he found himself staggering into the nearest tree, trying to find breath through a chest constricted by grief, tears streaming down his cheeks for the first time since memory of a yellow haired woman.  

 

With bark bloodied knuckles he’d stalked back to a camp in chaos hours later. Men were scurrying like ants around a stomped hill given news of the burnt dog stealing the northern wolf.

 

His mind didn’t come out of panic until he found himself on his back with four men wrestling to keep him to the ground.

 

“Calm boy!” Dondarion sliced through his haze, hands on shoulders pinning him to the moss. “You’ll not find her alone. We ride as brothers.”

 

Breathing through nostrils he looked around wildly before settling and taking the offered hand to be pulled to his feet.

 

“Boy’s an ox!” bellowed Lem humorlessly. “I hope you have strength enough left for the saddle. It was the girl who kept you both in the seat before, and to hunt the dog on that beast of his we’ll be riding to exhaustion.”

 

“I’m coming” He told the older fellow brokering no nonsense.

 

Lem lifted a challenging brow, stepping forward before deferring to his leader and moving aside.

 

“Aye, you can come boy.” Dondarion said swinging astride his own horse. “But the hound’ll be making a hard pace and so will we. You’ll be left behind if need.”

 

Gendry didn’t hesitate, and instead grabbed the reins from the fellow attempting to wrangle the startled animal in front of him. He lofted a inelegant leg over, reigning the gelding in before jolting into a gallop behind the others with more confidence than he knew he possessed.

 

It was hard riding and frustrating detours for the following days, but his determination never wavered.

 

He keenly listened and absorbed as Harwin pointed out disturbances in the undergrowth and continued them on the trail. By the ninth day he was only waiting for confirmation before he was barreling down deer paths ahead of the others with the hopes of finding Arya around the next bend.

 

They were mostly fruitless hopes until they broke through the treeline and into the plain of the valley days later to see the Twins off in the distance.

 

Horses whinnied at the initial smell of smoke and the sound of screams echoing across the hills. Gendry was off at a full and graceless gallop, panicked and determined before he’d even glimpsed the lone horse retreating from the scene towards them, carrying a large armored figure with a what looked to be a small lifeless sack.

 

He was launching himself at the figure in furied disregard, resolved to stop the lumbering man at all cost such that he did not halt to think of what the man may be carrying.

 

Vaulting off his mount and into the air, the collision with steel breast plate didn’t jar him nearly as much as it did the other man with the ground. Once there he was senselessly ripping off the familiar hounds head helm and using it as a means to frenziedly bash his victim into unconsciousness.

 

It wasn’t until he was being pulled away that the commotion behind him revealed a limp recognizable form. He was pushing his way toward the stirring figure and had her in his arms just as he heard men clashing on horses behind him. He was lofting himself and Arya onto he nearest mount and breaking for the trees even as she fought weakly in protest.

 

Arya tucked against his chest, he didn’t stop until the noise and smells were miles behind them, and only then upon her lame resistance.

 

“You’ll kill the horse.” She tried, gaining some clarity as she tried to lift her head in her first coherent effort.

 

Gendry pull up short and had them out of the saddle, laying her aground in an instance. He was examining her for wounds when he stilled and first heard the sobs overcome her.

 

“Robb!” She clutched at him weakly. “Th-they--Grey wolf’s head!” She sputtered, “They killed Robb! Gendry, the killed Robb!”

 

“Shh…Shh” He held her to him, shocked and unsure how or even if he could console her.

 

She was trembling. “My mum Gendry,” She pulled away shaking her head. “They have my mum. We have to go back!” She insisted.

 

He shook his head. “If they’ve murdered King Robb…” He gulped, feeling as if he should go drown himself in the rivers for having to relieve her of hope for her mother.

 

She looked at him with sad realization, the grief breaking his heart as she collapsed, body wracked with sobs. “My family…” She told him. “ My family…” She repeated wretchedly.

 

Gendry held her to him fiercely, his resolve hardening. “I will be your family. I __am__ your family…”

 

 


	2. I'm Going With You

 

With an impostor seated in the North and no living relatives to confirm the truth of her existence, the Brotherhood had tried to pawn her off at Acorn Hall.

 

Gendry had been fine with settling there in the Riverlands except that she wasn’t.    

 

She hadn’t been there to witness the demonic wrath of Beric Dondarion and Thoros of Myr. Gendry had whisked her away from the inferno that became of the Twins before she had the chance to be consumed alongside it.

 

What little comfort she found in the knowledge that the Red God was vicious in exacting revenge, wasn’t enough to quench her thirst even with the Frey’s wiped from the earth. She wanted blood and only the Brotherhood could assist her with that. The Brotherhood however, had no want for a young untouched maiden that could offer no ransom.

 

Nevertheless they did see the benefits of a smith, and so she was able to string herself along beside him. He wouldn’t leave her again and if this was the life she should choose, he would give it to her.

 

They both learned much of patience in the following years.

 

For Arya, it was only the Lannister’s left to eradicate and with time they saw to it more poetically themselves than she could ever hope to with the Brotherhood Without Banners. Justice served.

 

For Gendry it was a constant, more immediate battle. With all that she faced him with he should have lost the war years ago, and he might have except that it was for her heart--something he wasn’t willing to treat with anything but the greatest of care.

 

Though she tortured him as only an oblivious woman can torture a wanting man, he remained open to her always.

 

What began with her crawling into his bed at night to find solace from terror and mend her broken soul, became their normal routine.

 

It wasn’t something she ever questioned though they were certainly questioned about it by others on countless occasion.

 

“What does it matter?” She’d always answer as he shied his eyes away knowing why the others believed it mattered. “I’m better off with him than with the rest of you foul lot. At least Gendry wouldn’t dare try anything.” She’d insisted with confidence.

 

However, as the curve of her hip became more pronounced and budding breasts could be glimpsed from the collar of her shirt, the replies became less of a disgruntled and protective “He better not,” to more of a sly, “Oh wouldn’t he now?” And it became a question that left him in turmoil time after time just as it was an everyday battle not to act on his desire.

 

He’d promised himself long ago that he’d let her come to him if and when she so chose--that he’d do nothing to corrupt the relationship she needed from him no matter if she never developed the same feelings.

 

It was work to keep an even keel even a portion of the time. He had to remain open when he wanted nothing more than to tear the world down around him in frustration at its injustice.

 

…injustices that saw Arya Stark wanting to kiss Ned Dayne instead of him, and, what’s worse, describe it in gory detail to him hours later.

 

“It’s not at all what I’d thought it’d be like.” She’d droned on excitedly while he tried to keep a tight-lipped but amenable demeanor. “Actually, I don’t know what I thought it would be like really” She paused to think before slipping her over shirt over her head and continuing. “My stomach was doing flips, same as before a raid…” She trailed off laying on her side next to him head propped up on an elbow with midriff exposed. “I liked the excitement but I thought there’d be something separate from that, different somehow....Is it the same for you?” She asked curiously.

 

He couldn’t help frowning thinking about the times he’d been convinced by Anguy to have a go with one of the girls at the Peach to cure him of his pathetic pining only to be caught by Arya and tortured relentlessly or ignored for days after. Still he answered her. “It is, but I don’t think its supposed to be that way.”

 

“What do you mean?” She looked pensive.    

 

“I mean,” He squirmed a bit. “The stories make it seem like it should be much more…” He trailed off.

 

“The stories!” She exclaimed with an incredulous laugh throwing her head back and poking him.

 

He slapped her hand away but couldn’t avoid the other as she jolted him in the ribs. “Its not just stories though,” Gendry tried, defensively coming to a sitting position.

 

From on her back Arya smirked up at him. “Oh really?”

 

“Yes!” He expounded stubbornly. “Do you look at Ned bloody Dayne and believe you feel the same way your mother felt about your father?”

 

Arya stilled, her eyes narrowed in affront. “Of course not.” She spat as she sat up stiffly, hating to be reminded of all she’d lost. “My Mother was my father’s world and she his. I feel the same about Ned Dayne as I bloody do you!”  

 

Gendry felt his anger rising but managed to clench his jaw with a grunt and remain silent. He quickly decided it best to lay back down, though this time facing away from her.

  

Stubborn as she was though, she got up, stepped over him and sat down in front of his face. “Don’t be a stupid bull, you know what I mean!” she rolled her eyes.

 

Gendry was quick to sit back up. “Yes I think I do know what you mean,” He couldn’t help the edge to his tone or the fact that his volume increased with every word. “You mean that you feel the same way about that shit-eating purple-eyed dornishman as you do about the man who befriended and defended you against boys twice your size and kept your secret safe on the Kingsroad! The same man who lived through the nightmare at Harrenhall and followed you into the wilderness so you wouldn’t have to travel alone through a land full of rapers!” He pause for good measure, “Yes, Ned Dayne and I are certainly deserving of the same sentiment, aren’t we?” He finished, voice laced with sarcasm and practically foaming at the mouth.

 

“You would have to be a thick-headed arsehole to actually believe I held that as truth.” She fired immediately before continuing. “Gendry I---You’re the only person I have left.” She settled on.

 

Gendry grimaced and ran a frustrated hand through his already unruly locks. “And you have me...” He trailed off bitterly. How cruel it was though that he’d never have her.

 

“Ned Dayne means half as much to me as you. Less even….” She tried to diffuse his anger. “….And his lips were chapped.” She added as afterthought happy to see even a half-smile as lay back down, though this time on his back staring up at the tent canopy.

 

 She followed him on her stomach, resting her chin on his chest. “I suppose you’re right though. I did expect something more than just the feel of lips.”

 

“You’ve already said you felt more than that.” He rolled his eyes, understanding he was perpetuating the conversation because she wanted it to go on.  

 

“Yes, but that’s just it, _I_ felt it before I'd even kissed him.” She explained. “It wasn't because of him. It was the thrill of anticipation and nerves.”

 

“Arya Stark Nervous?” He teased with a smirk. “Impossible!”

 

She grimaced and smacked him lightly in the stomach. “Not around you I suppose.” She told him before smiling mischievously a thought having occurred. “Mayhaps it's you should be teaching me to kiss!” She chuckled as she began toying with his shirt unable to meet his eye.

 

It was probably a good thing considering the hungry look he was directing at her. He feigned nonchalance with a shrug. “If you asked, I suppose I’d have to oblige.” He tried none too casually.

 

“I’d have to ask?” She quipped with a sly smile still not looking up at him.

 

“When do you ever ask?” He chuckled. 

 

His laugh was cut short by a gulp when she pushed up onto her knees until she was hovering with her lips above his, eyes wide as saucers and looking determined.

 

As she moved a hand up his shoulder, delicate fingers gliding up his neck to gently cup his jaw, he saw her gaze darting between his stunned eyes and lips.

 

Things seem to go silent, time standing still.  

 

Seeing her eyes close and feeling her descending down to him, he reached his lips up to meet hers, one of his hands finding the curve of her waist as her skin met his.

 

He breathed her in greedily, her unpracticed lips easily submitting to his more dexterous pace. It began softly, his lips caressing hers with the reverence he’d always wished to express. But when she sighed into his kiss, he took it as petition for more, guiding her mouth open with his as he moved to reverse her onto her back, his tongue making its first brief excursion to meet and tangle with hers for a taste.

 

She met him with nothing but eagerness and lovely little gasps. Her hands groping the width of his back as she pushed her supple young body up against his, her breasts warm against his chest through her shirt and one thigh looped over his waist, the span of his hand just under her arse to support it.

 

He knew he must untangle himself from her before he found himself grinding his length coarsely against her, and yet in the process of extrication he couldn’t help but run his calloused smith’s hand up the length of her body from her thigh and up over her hip, his path trailing over the smooth skin of her stomach as her undershirt rode up and he grazed the side of her breast before pushing her shoulder down and forcing himself away from her with a last nibble at her bottom lip.

 

“I’m sorry,” He breathed, forehead resting against hers, his nose still nuzzling hers unable to fully withdraw.

 

“No,” She shook her head, “You felt something.”

 

Gendry gulped. “Aye, I did.”

 

“Me too.” She told him still intoxicated by what had just taken place. “I need more.” She panted, dragging his lips down to hers.

 

He more than obliged, growling against her lips as he ground himself hard against her, his own need startlingly apparent and no longer a mystery to her.  

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't fancy yourself a dirty little pervert like myself I suggest you pretend that was the ending and neglect to read the forthcoming chapter.


	3. End of All Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caution: Unapologetic raunchiness ahead

 

 He couldn’t count the times he’d asked her to be his wife.

 

Her answer was always infuriatingly the same.

 

“Fuck me and I’ll marry you.” She’d whisper to him in the depths of their tent, her hand wrapped around his cock and her mouth at his neck.

 

He’d only rut harder into her palm, lips determinedly suckling at her beautiful breasts while his fingers beat a steady rhythm within her, bringing her to a climax just as he came messily over her taut stomach.

 

Seven Hells did he want to fuck her, it was all he ever dreamed about given her horrific taunting. He practically salivated at the thought of her cunt gripping his length, triggering that basic animal that lived within him, calling to him to thrust without heed into her until his seed was dripping down her thighs, taking hold within her and she was whelping his pups, his for eternity.

 

But it was something he couldn’t do--wouldn’t.

 

Others had named him Baratheon but he’d lived with the surname Waters for far too long and wouldn’t condemn another innocent to the same life.   

 

She would be his in the eyes of the Gods before he took her for true…though it seemed as if that might never come to pass given the strength of both theirs wills--they’d mercilessly test each other in that regard until the end of all time.

 

She may well be the most maddening creature in existence and yet he couldn’t imagine one without her and didn’t wish to.

 

She was his in all but the most intimate physicality, and he the same to her.

 

They both wanted more but neither were willing to compromise on this one thing….and so they found other means to slake their hunger, though not above taunting.

 

It’d started as innocent as she was, lips battling in the dark, hands groping. But she was always overeager and never one to give up on something she was so determined to have.

 

Her mouth had found him in the depth of night, and his hand the back of her head as she nursed the length of him until she’d tasted her fill. He could still remember the strength of his hunger afterwards and the immediate need to have his own taste of her. The memory of her startled little squeal as he’d flipped her onto her knees to begin feasting on her cunt from behind would still find him leaden at a moments notice.  

  

And he’d never forget the day they’d chanced upon a creek and she’d bared herself for his eyes to feast for the first time.

 

Their exploration had always been in the dark. Her teasing hands tracing slow, maddening circles along the expanse of his chest, his length erect and eager for her discovery as her fingers danced and weaved in their attempt to devour all of him for memory while he resisted the urge to ravage her as she wished.

 

He’d known every inch of her body through the tips of his fingers before he’d been privy to the sight of her pale, perfect form.  

 

She’d undressed at the small pool never letting her eyes off him, her cheeky smirk only fueling his hunger. The only sight more memorable than the look she’d given him as she kicked out of her small clothes, her pert little arse mezmerizing him as she bent slightly to dip a toe in the water, was the look in her eye as she turned to face him as she backed in. The same look that smoldered still more fiercely as she rapturously watched him strip himself of clothing--first his shirt and breeches, and then his small clothes. Her penetrating gaze felt more like a fire burning across his body as his cock bobbed to attention in imitation of her gorgeous little tits on the surface of the cold clear water.

 

He’d wanted to take her then and every day after and she’d been more than willing with the exception of his terms.

 

What did it matter a bastards surname if there was no intention of mothering a child or even leaving one another’s side?

 

His name meant nothing of the man he was, or so she insisted, and so she would take him as he was or not at all.

 

It was an impasse they hadn’t yet found their way around, and a void they tried to tempt each other across to no avail.

 

The only hope they had was to frustrate one another enough to succumb to base deisre in a moment of weakness. And so they continued.

 

Each night found Arya’s arse grindings deliciously up and down his girth, the head of his leaking cock inevitably being used to torture her clit as she gasped and writhed and came.

 

She’d use her deviously little mouth to devour him to the hilt while he stared skyward and spilled down her throat, praising the old gods and new before she’d climbed astride him and he’d had to turn her on her back to keep her from sheathing himself within her.

 

It was a much more punishing task when it was her arse she was offering in place of her cunt however. After much struggle he’d have to withdraw himself from the pressure he exerted against her tight little opening, battling baser instinct having been able to almost convince himself it wasn’t the same sort of violation.

 

She was always extremely volatile after those times, extremely hungry knowing she’d almost gotten what she wished.

 

 Cunt dripping dripping wetness down her thighs, the sheer smell of her need would be overwhelming to the point that she could tug, and suck, and massage, gifting him with multiple releases, only to find he was endlessly full of more for her. The sight of her slathered in his seed and spent only aided his body’s appetite for her, to her exhausted frustration.

 

All that and still he found her pleasure.

 

He would curl her tired body against his, molding her to his shape while blunt fingers drew shivers and spasms down her limbs, her figure shuddering and writhing in rhythm with his own as his thick digits rubbed insistent circles on her clit before delving into her warmth against the melody of her sighs, his prick seeking friction between the slipperiness of her clenched thighs.

 

That at least was enough to keep him sane, though she quickly found the means to drive him mad with want in much worse ways.

 

He hadn't know it was possible to become aroused to the point of exhaustion without even being touched until she began with her sadism.

 

Instead of focusing her ministration on him, she’d be begun excluding him altogether from everything but her show.

 

She’d always been elegant, harboring precise control of her own movement, but never had he appreciated and hated it more than when he was no longer allowed to touch her--only watch and be tortured.

 

She was painstakingly slow in any attempt to disrobe and made sure to do so only while he was present. He’d tried to walk out once but quickly found himself staggering back in at a particularly breathy exhale, his jaw clenching at the first sight of her fingers exploring the slippery red warmth of where only his and his cock had a right.

 

He thought he was the only one suffering out the two of them as he was left to watch in despair, hand ultimately palming his own prick, grasping and tugging as he was forced to watch her explore the depths of herself, the depths that he’d taken pride in knowing more familiarly than she.

 

He’d been so close to breaking, had resigned to give in to her wants, when he’d entered and out of sheer frustration she’d come out with her compromise.

 

“Fuck me and I’ll marry you.” She proposed brokering no nonsense.

 

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Wouldn’t that be doing it backwards?”

 

She whined in aggravation. “The tradition’s backwards not us.” She argued. “Or is the Southern Bedding something you intend to insist?” She added acidly.

 

“No.” He frowned the shrugged. “But who’s to say you’ll even go through with it after I’ve given in?”

 

Her brow furrowed thinking it obvious. "I’d lose you otherwise.”

 

Though it was far from the truth he didn’t deny it. He would die before being parted from her.

 

“I'll take you as my wife In sight of the Gods.” He’d tried insisting instead.

 

Frowning stubbornly at first, a slow smile slid across her face and she grasped his hand. “Then so it shall be.” She said leading him hurriedly off towards the hobble of horses.

 

“Up,” She directed extending a hand for him to climb on behind her. He did as told, game for whatever adventure lay before them if only she was his at its end.

 

From the forest surrounding Fairmarket, Raventree Hall was well within their reach though they’d arrive with the cloak of night.

 

Even so, the white as bone bark and twisted branches of the giant weirwood tree told him of her purpose.

 

It wasn’t a Sept, but the scent of her against the wind and the feeling of wisdom present while somehow hidden from the world outside made it seem more than perfect, the glow of her smile as they both leaped from the saddle only proving the point more. This place was meant for them.

 

Radiant with an earnestness he never witnessed, she began, no preamble or discussion necessary, the both of them having waited long enough.

 

“We come,” She bellowed into the darkness, a thousand ravens turning to consider them curiously from roosts amongst the foliage of red come again after a millennia.

 

“We come to bear witness before the Gods.” She smiled a smile of pure light amidst the moss, the fireflys painting an ethereal halo around her. She had never been so beautiful as she was as she spoke the words.

 

“I, Arya, of House Stark, a woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, I come to beg the blessing of the Gods with the man I wish to claim me.”

 

Gendry couldn’t help his smile, and though he knew not the words, he knew what he wished to proclaim to the world. “It is I who claim her. Gendry Waters, baseborn bastard and smith, I would claim her love forever if she would have me.” He moved to grasp both of her hands as he stepped close.

 

“I take this man.” She told the world and its ravens, her eyes glittering as she slowly descended to her knees tugging him down with her.

 

His eyes never left hers, and though anticipating instruction, he easily captured her mouth as she leaned upwards, her hands gliding up his chest and under his shirt causing him to shiver.

 

He growled hungrily, in need of all of her and knowing intrinsically that it would be done then, that in sight of the Gods she would be his after this moment.

 

 He looped a hand around her back and pulled the waist of her breeches over the curve of her arse with a single swift tug, sliding them down the length of her slim legs while supporting her weight off the ground.

 

He had her on her back soon after, her shirt pooling around her stomach he ducked his head behind the path of his hands as he moved the fabric up, letting his lips graze the smooth planes of her belly, palming both breast before giving them the attention of his mouth and nipping at a nipple while pulling away towards her lips.

 

She grasped at his back, his neck, his face, thrusting her body flush with his before forcing him into a sitting position in order to facilitate the coming undone of laces, the withdrawal of the thing she so longed within her.

 

She’d waited too long.

 

She fell backwards with him on top of her, her legs wrapping themselves around narrow hips, her hand between them and poised with his cock at her throbbing entrance, her need overwhelming.

 

He spared no time with ridding himself of his pants, only a shared kiss as he hurriedly eased himself home, breathing in her gasp as he bit his lip against the constriction and nuzzled his face in her neck.

 

Her fingers dug into his back as he buried the final span of himself into her cunt. The painful little nip to her neck gave her something to focus on and she relaxed, groaning in the most sinfully alluring way, her warmth accepting him fully as she pinned him with a pleading look, forehead against his.

 

He withdrew only slightly, thrusting back in and delighting in the sight of her jaw falling open with a breathy pant as she became intoxicated with sensation and her eyes rolled back.

 

When he withdrew almost completely he watched as her gaze drifted down between them, enraptured as he drove his prick home with the snap of his hips, first once and then again and again, her mouth an ‘o’ of fascination and satisfaction.

 

He kept up the tireless pace as she began to writhe against him desperate for more, hips rocking and meeting him in a symphony that echoed through the surrounding forest, only dulled by the moss and the breeze and distance.

 

Before long he was dripping sweat onto her slick body, beads of it following the path of her own and riding down the gradient of t breasts peaking through the opening of her shirt as they bounced in transfixing protestation of his punishment.

 

It was too much of a gorgeous sight, Arya disheveled and prone and vulnerable to his every movement, experiencing her from within. She was biting her lip brow furrowed, her cunt gripping his cock fiercely and truly coming undone on him as he watched enthralled.  

 

Needing her closer as his blood rose towards his own climax, he lifted her to straddle his lap while on his knees as he felt himself pushed over the edge.

 

He groaned and held her close, a wave of euphoria exiting from his body and into hers as his hips twitched and he pumped all of himself into her with continued little thrusts, her own orgasm intensified as her body went rigid atop him and her toes curled and fists clenched.

  

Paused in rigid embrace, it was a moment before they breathed together, heads lolling to instinctively find each others lips, mouth lazily worshiping one another until Arya wiggled her hips and he twitched back to life within her still, his teeth catching her bottom lip out of surprise and eliciting from her a throaty chuckle.

 

Smirking, she pushed him hard onto his back while he was still recovering from a weakened state only to wrestle her shirt off and over her head to bare herself fully to him.   

 

Rough treatment forgotten, his greedy hands were quick to grasp her, one gliding up a thigh to covetously palm her arse, while the other transversed the plane of her stomach, thumb grazing a nipple before cupping her neck and drawing her down to him, causing him to ease out of her while she caught herself with hands on his chest.

 

His legs were scrabbling to fully rid themselves of his breeches so he could find proper leverage as she began her slow ride.

 

With feet planted firmly on the ground he was able to thrust up as she lowered herself down onto him, hands firmly on her hips.

 

She threw her head back as she sank slowly onto him, her hair tumbling down her back and tickling his hand as he squeezed firm flesh and spread her while easing up to meet her, nostrils flaring.

 

She was breathtaking as moved with tauntingly slow movements, slender fingers grasping at his chest or molesting her own breasts.

 

“Fuck.” He uttered out of desperation as her pace picked up, blinking and having to look away to hold himself back from eruption. And yet it only seemed to urge her on.

 

Descending down onto him with vigor again and again, lips ajar, her rhythm stuttered slightly before picking back up, she was relentless and eager as his hands assisted in finding her stride.

 

She fit atop him as if she were made for it, and he couldn’t help but believe she was and hoped it proved to her too. Moving a thumb to her clit, he began with just small pressure and was rewarded as she shivered and faltered in gait down the length of him. Enraptured, he began with circles, eagerly anticipating her reaction and letting it feed his gratification.

 

As her movements became erratic, so did his, thus compounding her pleasure with the maddening sensation and bringing her just to the edge as evidenced by the sound of her keens.

 

The music of her gasps and his need to see her continued undoing saw him assisting to keep her from halting, taking over without letting up with his thumb as she held on and he fucked into her from below, his pace accelerating until the collision of their bodies was jolting her knees up off the ground, her eyes growing wide as saucers and breath lost completely at his mercy, him deep within her.

 

With a final punishing thrust her body went rigid, her muscles taut and her toes curling as she moaned and fell forward into his arms, his seed erupting into her welcoming warmth as he heaved in heavy breathes, drowning in the ecstasy that was now his wife.  

 

Completely boneless and collapsed in heady spasms in his arms, he lay her on her side, hips giving last little pumps to drain himself until he began to grow soft and fell out of her.

 

She grumbled at his exit and he chuckled tucking slick dark waves behind her ear, drowning in her eyes while she searched his.

 

“I am yours and you are mine?” She asked with an innocence that was uncharacteristic.

 

“Aye” He grinned. “I am yours and you are mine.   


End file.
